


A Pretty Dress

by alchemystique



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It suddenly comes crashing down on her halfway through her mother's painstaking work on her hair - she takes a look at herself in the mirror - minimal makeup, a pale pink dress that shows the scar below her collarbone (she doesn't like to talk about it, wears turtlenecks and button-ups and for some reason she's never felt the need around Killian - has always known that if he asks about it, she'll tell him), her hair halfway towards an masterpiece of skill and dedication.</p><p>Her breath catches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pretty Dress

**Author's Note:**

> 4x04 date night fic, because THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH OF IT OKAY.

It suddenly comes crashing down on her halfway through her mother's painstaking work on her hair - she takes a look at herself in the mirror - minimal makeup, a pale pink dress that shows the scar below her collarbone (she doesn't like to talk about it, wears turtlenecks and button-ups and for some reason she's never felt the need around Killian - has always known that if he asks about it, she'll tell him), her hair halfway towards an masterpiece of skill and dedication.

Her breath catches. 

Elsa is standing behind her, watching Mary Margaret's progress with a wistful smile in place, eyes distant as though reliving fond memories - Emma has no memories like this. 

When Mary Margaret - when her mom had suggested this, Emma had almost balked at the idea - the entire concept of letting her mother help her dress and do her makeup and fix her hair so entirely foreign she'd almost said no just based on the idea that she didn't _need_ her mothers help. 

She's glad she'd said yes. Even after having to deal with the comment on her rather lacy underthings as her mom zipped up the dress - even after getting jabbed in the eye with a lash curler, even after Mary Margaret had teared up over the way Emma's fingers had drifted fondly over the display of earrings she'd offered from her own jewelry box. 

This - this is new, and strange, and she's never had this. Her mother fawning over her hair as she gets ready for a date, a friend over her shoulder smiling as all the pieces come into place. She'd given up on the idea so long ago now, and to have it here, now, its overwhelming.

"Emma?"

Mary Margaret has a handful of hair curled around her palm and an industrial sized bottle of hairspray in her free hand and Emma can feel her eyes getting watery. "Yeah, no, I'm fine. Everything's fine."

As always, her mother senses more than Emma lets on, but she lets it slide.

"Everything except your _hair_. I'd kill for a little magical swish of the hand to make this all into something stylish. I thought I'd remember how to do this but it's been an extraordinarily long time since I've had hair long enough to manage." Emma's hand darts up to meet Mary Margaret's on her shoulder, and she squeezes her fingers as she shoots her a smile in the mirror. "Any ideas, Elsa?"

"I'm afraid I'm out of my element with hot irons and that noxious spray, Madam Mayor." 

(Her mom is the mayor. Her mom is the _mayor_ , and she is a sheriff, and her dad is a sheriff, and she's going out on a date with a man out of time. Somehow, the fairytale stuff doesn't sound as silly as all that.)

The knock at the door to the bedroom startles them all, and Emma's gaze slides over to see David smiling as he leans against the doorway. He takes a deep breath when he sees her, and suddenly this all feels very formal, the dress and the heels and the hair and her parents sizing her up before she goes out on a date. 

"Ladies. How's it coming?"

"Mom is apparently struggling with my unruly mane." 

His head tics to the side curiously, and Emma catches his gaze in time to see his smile slip higher at one corner. "Here. Let me."

Her mom falls away immediately, but Emma is fairly positive her mouth has gone slack as her father - her plaid wearing, shepherd-turned prince-turned coma patient, animal shelter volunteer _father_ gathers up the same chunk of hair and swirls it around his fingers, his other hand reaching for the pins on the vanity.

She watches him through the mirror in amused surprise as he tucks the bobby pins between pursed lips, pulling her hair up and back and pinning it in place with the ease of a man who's done this before.

He pats her shoulder when he's done, smiling one of those Emma-specific smiles of his. 

Her mother groans. "It's really unfair how easy that was."

"I could hear you bemoaning the whole process downstairs. Decided to lend you my expertise." They share a quiet, secret grin, and Emma decides she'll ask about her fathers cosmetology background at a later date. When his gaze shifts back to Emma, his smile is soft and careful, maybe a little melancholy, and she understands that this moment is just as important for her parents as it is for her.

"You look beautiful," he says, and Emma's smile only trembles a little as Mary Margaret yanks her out of her seat to do a final spin.

Elsa laughs, and with the skirt still spinning around her knees, Emma pulls Mary Margaret in for an unexpected hug - her mother's "Oh" of surprise is muffled against Emma's collarbone (these heels are _high_ ), and for a single moment, Emma feels sixteen on Prom night, wonders vaguely what kind of comment David might have made about corsages and curfews and the overall broodiness of her date.

The knock at the door startles them all out of their little bubble of nostalgia, and Emma takes a deep breath to calm the sudden batch of nerves - she has the fleeting thought, as she battles David down the stairs to get to the door before him, elbowing him rather firmly in the kidney, that she hopes Killian likes her dress, and then the door is swinging open, her parents and Elsa stuffed unassumingly behind the kitchen counter as she gets a good look at their new arrival.

Holy.

Jesus. 

He's out of the usual pirate get-up, and other than a stint in a hospital robe that should have made him look like a frumpy invalid but didn't hit that mark _at all, damn it,_ she's never seen him out of those clothes (her mind does not go straight to the gutter, no sirree bob), and he looks...

Well, he looks like the sort of man who a normal father would interview while cleaning a shotgun. He's sin on legs, blue collared shirt and a soft looking vest, the leather jacket like something pulled straight out of a Bad Boy Biker For Dummies catalogue - the final product is familiar in its similarities, but for a moment she's stunned and breathless. 

"Hi," she says, and yep, she hadn't gotten rid of the breathlessness all the way. 

"Hi." She's glad, at least, that he's about as verbose as her right now - goddamn it they look _good_ , and she's half tempted to ask Mary Margaret to take a picture of them.

Which...she's doing, from behind the island, trying to be sneaky about it as Killian slides into the room, his left arm curling from around his back and - 

She doesn't even notice the rose for a moment, because that is a _hand_ he'd been hiding behind him. 

Her parents and Elsa are watching them, and all of the sudden Emma wants to shoo them all away, that is a hand, okay, and she is having trouble coming to terms with any of him right now. She's not sure how to proceed - she's all gussied up in her mothers clothes, she feels girly and silly and Killian - Killian had somehow managed to get his hand back.

This isn't them, she realizes as she's speaking, taking the rose and asking him what she should call him now, smiling at her parents as Killian slips her coat around her shoulders and leads her out the door, his hand warm at her back, the fingers flexing and warm and _this isn't them._

She ignores the thought. Emma is bound and determined to go out on an actual date with an actual man who was maybe sort of her boyfriend, and she doesn't have time for second guessing. She doesn't need it, anymore, not with him. Not with Killian.

She trusts him, with her family and her life and even with her heart, too, and as they walk hand in hand down the steps and out the front doors, Emma squeezes his fingers, smiling happily at him as he wonders aloud what kind of strange establishment she's taking him to now.


End file.
